The Rip Post                                                                                              

So it goes
back on planet earth
and I'm getting old.
amid half-forgotten
tales of wild youth

the eyes have had it
the heart laments
spinning poems
don't pay the rent

as for the past
'tis better to forgive
than to forget.
when did I become
this other person
with no zeal or zest
no chips to cash in
nor debts to collect

out amid the stars
for a brief frolic
the air was too rare
time to seek the shelter
of the dreary cartoon show

truths cannot be told if
there is no one to listen.
I'm not sly enough to
translate my dreams
into words that can be
heard by the dullards,
slackers and adherents
of dead religions.

may just as well as
be tripping down
the garden path
of my youth,
sleeping on the
hillside waiting
for the sun, this day
and the next and so on
til nada mas

the force of gravity
may be the worst depravity
keeps us in captivity
saps our creativity
humbles us in the end.

There's no strategy
for winning this war.
there's no coping
with the cries for more.
Haven't we seen enough
lies and deceit, but why
then is it the truth
that's in retreat?

Time to go deeper,
and and not beyond.
The music stops,
so take a seat, take a bow
and stop shuffling your feet.
The buck stops here,
your number's come up,
your the lucky winner
hurray and huzzah.
            ---Jack Oakes


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